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“You have an opinion upon everything else.”

“That is true,” she said. “But this is different.”

Her expression gave him no help at all, but she was concealing an opinion, he thought, and he had every intention of discovering it.

They turned towards the merchant’s shop.

“And this wine,” he said, “this exact wine, is essential.”

“It is.”

“Although better wine exists.”

She stopped walking. Darcy stopped too. He had expected her to object. He had not expected to be quite so pleased when she did.

“Mr. Darcy.”

He knew that tone. “Yes?”

“You are not going to buy him a better bottle of wine.”

“I had not said I would.” He had, in fact, already begun considering which bottles might make a suitable apology.

“You were thinking it.”

Darcy had been grateful for Miss Bingley’s decision to remain in Gracechurch Street because she could not yet ride in a carriage sitting upright. It had given him more time to spend with Miss Elizabeth, and that was as far as he had thought about the matter. He had not considered the Gardiners’ plans at all.

Whatever Mrs. Bennet’s faults, she was said to set a very generous table, and a visit to Longbourn would have allowed the estimable couple a week or so away from the children, where they could attend parties and spend time together. They must have been greatly anticipating it.

He had changed a great deal over the past months, Darcy thought, but here was a warning that there was work yet to do.

She read the answer in his face. “No.”

“I have several very fine Burgundies.”

“No.”

“A Bordeaux that⁠—”

“No.”

“It seems unreasonable to reject it without tasting it.”

“My uncle does not want better wine. He wants this wine.”

Darcy regarded her.

Miss Elizabeth regarded him back.

There were moments in which this courtship bore an unexpected resemblance to negotiation, but on this point, Miss Elizabeth had no intention of yielding.

“He has made it with the same wine for years,” she explained. “It is tradition.”

Well. One could not argue with that.

The merchant’s window displays were modest compared with several they had already passed, but the shop within was pleasant, the walls lined with bottles and casks. A clerk came forward, and when she mentioned Mr. Gardiner’s name, his face brightened at once.

“Ah. The Christmas wine.”